


Attack of the 50ft. Man

by CommanderBayban



Category: Are You Being Served?, The Brothers (TV 1972)
Genre: Crossover, Gift Giving, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28152123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBayban/pseuds/CommanderBayban
Summary: Mr Humphries surprises Paul with a gift: platform shoes!
Relationships: Wilberforce Claybourne Humphries & Paul Merroney





	Attack of the 50ft. Man

“Did I wake you?” Paul asked while standing in front of the living room mirror adjusting his tie and shirt cuffs.

Emerging from the bedroom, Wilberforce purred “Mm, __no...__ ,” and began to wrap his maroon silk robe around his slender frame, “I was...half awake.”

It was a lie, of course. Paul was always dressed before the sun even had a chance to roll out of bed. And though he did his best to mince his footsteps and stray from any sudden movements or piercing lights, Wilberforce would inevitably find himself jolted out of sleep by the mattress' gentle flux when Paul arose from underneath the covers at five in the morning.

The haberdasher sashayed over to his darling and enveloped Paul in his arms, resting his head upon his shoulder, “Why do you insist on going so early?” he mewled, “You told me the others arrive at all hours of the morning.”

“At the expense of their work. If it wasn’t for my due diligence, Hammonds would be pushing up daisies by now.”

“You’re always so cynical…”

The corners of Paul’s lips rose in a coy, yet impish, manner, “And you love it all the same.”

“Oh, maybe I do,” Wilberforce’s warm, soft breath caressed Paul’s neck, making his hair stand on end. Coupled with the light sensation of fingertips running down the length of his chest, the banker couldn’t help but shiver. “...Still...won’t you stay just a little longer? Keep me company since I’ve been so rudely awakened?”

From the mirror’s reflection, Merroney admired the sassy, waggish persona of his icy-blond companion. Never in a million years did he expect to be invested in someone who worked at the local department store, but alas, sometimes it does pay to diversify one's portfolio. But perhaps it was his upbringing—being surrounded by working class sensibilities—that subconsciously pushed him in that direction? Or maybe it was simply the fact that Mr Humphries had an odd charm that intrigued him in the worst way? For once, despite all of his introspection, he couldn’t conjure up a definitive answer to this question. What he __did__ know, however, was that their interest in one another was to remain a furtive little machination between the two—a secret that only made the entire affair that much more titillating.

With a small, affected clear of his throat, Paul gave an order which Wilberforce carried out with coquettish pride. You see, despite Mr Lucas' assumption that his coworker's relationship was simply a toffee-filled meal ticket out of working for Grace Brothers—or anywhere else for that matter—Wilberforce genuinely loved Paul's snarky, domineering attitude. It made a pleasant change from what he was used to. With a simpering grin, he helped to slide the black pinstriped jacket onto the shrewd businessman, and, as per usual, he complemented its brilliant cut and structure.

After a last few flounces of his brunet tresses, Paul made an about-face and planted a fat smooch upon Humphries’ lips, “Thank you. I know it’s your favourite.”

Wilberforce’s cheeks turned bright red, “Mhmm.”

Paul strided over to the console table where he snapped his briefcase shut and folded the daily newspaper underneath his arm, “Well, I’ll be off then.”

“Oh, don’t be too late. Last time you—good heavens, I’ve almost forgot! Stay there!” Mr Humphries shuffled back into the depths of the flat and reemerged a moment later with a light-blue cardboard box.

“You’ve been busy, I see,” Paul said as he chuckled through his nose. “But it’s not my birthday.”

“I am well aware it’s not your birthday, Paul. Is it too much to surprise your loved ones with gifts on random Friday mornings? Here.” Wilberforce presented the box to the other who, after a quick glance at his watch, set down his belongings and accepted the rather untimely present.

“Should I guess what’s inside?”

“You __caaan…__ ” 

Paul rattled the package close to his ear, and without a second delay he asserted: “Shoes.”

Wilberforce slapped his palms against his mouth and gasped, “However did you know!”

“I __have__ seen a shoebox before, Wilby,” Paul replied, looking askance at the blond, “And __why__ do I need another pair? The ones I’m wearing are in perfect condition.”

“Oh, please, Paul," Wilberforce scoffed with a flounce of his hand, "It’s 1976 and you insist on wearing __those__ like you’re stepping into a club full of fogeys still donning their suits from 1875.”

“On the contrary, only last week did I notice my managing director sporting a new jacket.”

“Good heavens, how lucky you are that I have graced your presence as your fashion fairy godmother.”

Paul pursed his lips incredulously, but decided against retorting with any of his signature quips. Despite the dubious reasoning behind the gesture, it __was__ considerate of Wilberforce to purchase him something...the only issue being an expected reciprocity some time in the near future. He had a sneaking suspicion that flowers wouldn’t cut it this time.

Paul slid open the box lid and instantly his brow shot to the ceiling. They were shoes, no doubt...but definitely not the kind that were a staple at Sir Neville's oft-frequented golf club. Inside were a pair of shiny black platform heels staring back at him.

“You __are__ aware of my height?” he said, looking askance at the beaming salesman.

Mr Humphries uttered a dramatic sigh and patted his hair, “This is the fashion of __now__ , Mr Merroney. Please become privy to it.”

“You must be joking; I work in an office, not on a runway for one of your gauche catalogues. I may not be __privy__ to the workplace culture at Grace Brothers, but I can assure you that no one in upper management gives awards for ‘best dressed’.”

“But when they do, ensure that __you__ will be the first recipient,” Wilberforce smirked, “Now come come, try them on.”

“You assume that there’s any competition to begin with,” Paul muttered as he took a seat and slipped off his trusty loafers with the tips of his toes. Meanwhile, Wilberforce returned the parcel to his hands and took care in proffering the shoes one at a time to Merroney who put them on without a hint of struggle.

“Absolutely perfect, darling. They’re just like mine!”

“They do feel quite comfortable.”

“Heads will be turning at Hammonds, you’ll see.”

Paul grabbed onto the forearm of his companion and helped himself to stand. The heel was a mere two inches approximately, but since the sudden height would surely come with a learning curve, he didn’t wish to spend the day repairing his ego if he happened to slip like an amateur ice skater. With minced steps, Paul made his way to the full-length mirror in the bedroom where he shot himself a rather dignified pose. Heck, he’d be lying if he said these heels didn’t accentuate his figure. There would definitely be some heads rolling at the office once they noticed the growth spurt. “Hmph,” he smirked, “Ms Miller, eat your heart out.”

He returned back into the foyer with his eyes piercing and his lips pouting like the models who he claimed to have no relation to, “Yes, I think these will be suitable.”

Wilberforce clasped his hands together as a sudden burst of energy radiated through his veins, “Oooh, don’t tempt me.”

“They will be much more efficacious at kicking...particular folks into high gear.”

“I’ve never met a man more dedicated to his craft,” the salesman cooed, flopping himself onto the ivory couch and propping his head up against his knuckles, “But honestly, darling, you couldn’t pay me to work for you.”

“Likewise. The last thing I need is another director gawking at fellow staff instead of focusing on the tasks at hand.”

Wilberforce batted his lashes, “You would...mmm... _ _reprimand__ me, then?”

"Quite," Paul said, turning around to grab his briefcase and gazette. “Now, I really must be going. Thank you for the gift.”

“So oblivious...," Mr Humphries whispered to himself with a slight shake of the head, "Now don’t be late back tonight, Paul, we’re going to break in those heels later.”

Paul whipped his attention back towards the blond and grimaced, “Dancing? I’d rather poke my eyes out.”

“Luckily, you don’t need your eyes to dance, darling. Now ta ta!”

~~~~

Soon after Merroney’s arrival at work, word spread like wildfire through the ranks about the chairman’s ‘late-onset puberty’ as David had put it. While making her rounds, he enquired to Clare about her apparent influence on him but she claimed innocence:

“For a man who’s allergic to anything pop culture, this is completely unlike him; he must be turning a new leaf.”

“It’s just odd,” Ted said, leaning back in his seat, “Why would Merroney, of all people, care about fashion all of a sudden?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes, “I __told__ you, Ted, didn’t I? About his feminine mind. He probably got them custom made!”

“Oh,” Ted scoffed, “Like that makes it any better!”

“Don’t be mad because you don’t have any platforms hand crafted by Terpsichore herself,” David chuckled.

Jen laughed quietly to herself in a way that implied she was in a world all of her own.

“Care to indulge us in your humour?” Ted prodded.

“I’m imagining Paul...dancing to ABBA. It’s really quite a sight!”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. A real dancing queen that one is. He can dance right on out of here as far as I'm concerned.”

“You never know, Ted, he could probably dance you under the table,” David smirked, making his way towards the door.

“Oh please. Knowing him he’d only step into a disco with the intention of buying the building to sell to some Lebanese sheik under the guise that, ‘disco once lived here’.”

Right on cue, Paul opened the door to Ted’s office ready to devour the Hammonds one by one like the (mischievous) green giant. In an instant he scrutinized each member one by one, judging them appropriately in his head for their constant slacking. “David, may I see you in my office?” he asked solemnly.

“‘Mamma mia, here we go again,’” Ted laughed, patting the side of his nose.

Paul tilted his head and furrowed his brow, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Now that's a first, isn't it!”


End file.
